


Of Honour and Promiscuity

by Belmount



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Forbidden Love, Incest, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki Posing as Odin, Lust, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24077974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belmount/pseuds/Belmount
Summary: In Loki’s short but opulent reign, he had enjoyed many a night between the spread legs of a willing wench. So many in fact, that many of his more liberal predecessors would proudly no doubt suggest, that under different circumstances, he would have entertained a splendid start for a fine harem; whilst their more prudish counterparts would likely blush at the mere notion of his debauchery.Yet, it was not enough to cease his insistent longing. Only Thor's presence could do that.
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Kudos: 19





	Of Honour and Promiscuity

In Loki’s short but opulent reign, he had enjoyed many a night between the spread legs of a willing wench or two. So many in fact, that many of his more liberal predecessors would proudly no doubt suggest, that under different circumstances, he would have entertained a splendid start for a fine Harem; whilst their more prudish counterparts would likely blush at the mere notion of his debauchery. Yet, it was not enough to cease his insistent, feverish longing. 

It was not an issue easily resolved by any number of tumbles under the bedsheets, or elsewhere for that matter, regardless of how gratifying; nor was it a matter of a lack of variation, as none of his twilight encounters lacked deviance or imagination. Moreover, Loki was confident that was not due to a lack of beauty shared between his vast conquests, for each was comelier and more voluptuous than the last.

Although he had largely limited himself to Odin's decrepit and sagging form since faking his demise, he remained pointedly unwilling to engage in even the mere idea of carnal pleasures whilst wearing his not father's ageing body; call it vanity or maybe Loki's last shred of self-respect, it was of little concern to him. Granted, it certainly wasn’t due to a lack of eager participants, countless women and girls prepared to use their generous bodies in hopes that the windowed All-father would elevate them into the extravagances of higher society. 

Instead, he had taken to adopting an admittedly more fetching form for his steamy pursuits. A glamour which resonated greater with the body he was familiar with, whilst also haling the Asgardian masculine ideals that had never accepted the effeminate second prince. Hence, his tamed, ebony curls that he had been eternally mocked for bowed to the wild tresses of a blond barbarian. His too soft, lightly freckled, pale flesh that marked him as a scholar unapologetically melted into the rough, tanned muscle of a warrior. Whilst his hardened, emerald glare effortlessly transformed into a unintimating, muddy, carefree blue. Thus, it would be an understatement to suggest that, even thinking that they were being courted by a meagre, common merchant, he was never short of a healthy parade of pleasing admirers.

Yet, none of them was able to mend the void that consumed him; Thor.

Eventually, not even the frantic throes of several dozen lust-filled couplings were a strong enough aphrodisiac to allow him to preserve the slightest pretence that the women and men he regularly bedded without much ceremony are anything but agreeable yet bland substitutes for the only one he sincerely desired. In the end, the rich praise of his companions rang hollow when he repeatedly gazed into their dilated pupils and observed somebody that he didn’t recognise staring back.

For a while, he had briefly pondered conceiving an illusion of Thor to soothe his plight, before ultimately disregarding the idea; admittedly knowing that he could never truly mimic his brothers gruff but graceful movements, or the roguish smirk he would wear often after having a pint too many. He didn’t care for another imitation, despite how colourful or exhaustive it maybe. Instead, Loki solemnly settled for imagining Thor's wild gold streaks in the morning sun and hearing his spirited laugh in the warm evening breeze.

He hadn't seen his brother since that fateful day; and whilst he was originally profoundly relieved for the sanctuary forged in his prolonged absence, he eventually began being consumed by an unbearable sense of intense loss. It had struck Loki on a great number of occasions that the Norns must find deep enjoyment in mocking his existence; why else would they disregard the one hurdle to the princes joining in a romantic union, their supposed kinship? Only to immediately replace it a more permanent barrier, the raw knowledge that they weren't even born of the same species? That Loki was, behind his civilised veneer, unquestionably a filthy, repulsive, monster. 

Loki couldn't blame any Asgardian, respectful or otherwise, for rejecting him; for regardless the shape he embraced any intimacy would be as natural as that between man and a mutt.

So no, he would not seek Thor out and tarnish his reputation and integrity; he had seen enough pity in those eyes to satiate him for an eternity. He would instead elect to drown himself at night in rich meads and the milky warmth frivolously gifted by wanton strangers, who would abscond at dawn, none the wiser of the foul atrocity that they had just partaken in.


End file.
